The Heart of Life
by kirby russell
Summary: WIP. "After her first disastrous year, Ginerva developed a few habits that concerned her mother..." Eventually Draco/Ginny.
1. All That Came Before and Year One

Fred and George never asked, always knew. They shared their secrets with her in tree houses and bus stops. Her other brothers ignored her, but the twins knew better. They taught her every trick they knew, and showed her how to make do with what little they had. Fred covered her eyes the first time they guided her to their secret hiding place; George took her lips between his fingers when showing her how to whistle.

No one else caught the flittering gleams of amusement but her; four identical eyes, all different shades of amber-flecked Technicolor madness, catching her eyes over the dinner table, making her hide a smirk behind her fork.

As if she was a part of their whole, they appeared by her side the minute she felt the tears sting the back of her eyes. Her hands fit perfectly in theirs, George on the right, Fred on the left. She never needed to worry about not having her wand hand free; she was never so safe as when she stood between them. Her hands kept them close, reining them in, slowing them down; she showed them the small treasures only she bothered to notice. When she was too safe, too shy, they spread out, unfurling like two tangerine wings. They helped her fly away.

Ginerva never smiled, not really. The last time they remembered was the night before the twins left for Hogwarts the first time, leaving her truly alone for the first time. The moon hid and the clouds cast shadows larger than they could imagine, though they always believed themselves still larger. She slipped into their room, tiny feet padding softly. They sat on the edge of the bed, watching her, already dressed.

"One last adventure—"

"—For old time's sake?"

She smiled, brilliantly, blindingly, and their hearts ached already feeling the loss.

After her first disastrous year, Ginerva developed a few habits that concerned her mother.

She would no longer eat chicken. Mirrors made her a bit skittish. But most of all, an inexplicable anger filled her blood like a disease, and Ginerva became cold. Molly no longer looked her daughter in the eyes, fearing the daggers glittering there. Ron and the other boys skirted around her, like the Dark Lord would suddenly jump out of her fingertips.

Only the twins remained unchanged. With the help of Fred and George, she snuck off to Diagon Alley and spent all her money on a set of expensive quills meant for Aurors and particularly paranoid wizards. With them, she wrote long letters to herself, making sure there were no longer spans of time she could not remember. 'Not a diary,' she told herself. 'A catalogue.' They seemed to understand, and helped her hide it from the others.

It was, however, the small gestures that meant the most to her. They still held her hands without flinching. And though they held less humor, more compassion, their eyes still met hers unwaveringly. Behind the softness, she saw their own gleam of steel and it made her stronger. Fred and George held the same anger, the same simmering despairing rage at those who had dared harm a part of their whole.

And so they plotted.

Draco Malfoy never saw it coming.


	2. Years Two and Three

To start, it must be said: Ginerva Weasley had never loved Harry Potter. She'd never even really been infatuated with him, simply shy. Muggles didn't understand the isolation of pureblood children before age 11. Even despite all that, she was convinced it was impossibly to replace Fred and George in her heart; there simply wasn't enough room. Besides, she was far too busy.

Fred and George were known for their impetuousness; they were not known for their patience. Yet as Hermione Granger would testify, it took legions of patience to be a true genius at potions or transfiguration, or anything truly artistic about being a Wizard. The stuff Harry did, it was brave, surely, but it lacked grace. It lacked the precision so favored by those proud of their powers.

They began with defense. Verbal, physical, mental—they built fortresses of words and ice and blood around themselves until no one could see in. The process would have been heart-wrenchingly lonely if they had not relied on each other. Revenge, they decided, could never be done with only one; "the poor bastard would die of misunderstood isolation," George said one night after a particularly horrifying day, and everyone agreed. At first, the only thing that kept Ginerva from throwing hexes at Malfoy during breakfast was the warmth of a familiar hand on her wand arm. Before long, her self-control was legendary—or would have been, had anyone known of it.

The twins would wait for her outside her classroom—themselves having already snuck out in some way or another—and then for all intents and purposes they disappeared for the rest of the day, only resurfacing for dinner. If they wondered if they were missed (which Ginny did when she was feeling particularly maudlin), they need not have worried. Gossiping about the boy who lived and their own friends took up more time than students had to spare. Ginerva blended in, and while everyone knew Fred and George by reputation, no one could point them out in a crowd, let alone tell you one certifiable thing about them. (It was only in their forth year, when they came back from summer a head taller than the rest, that they had to worry about truly blending in.)

The boys were a little too detached from reality to truly care about petty gossip. What was reality to those who held worlds of magic and fantasy behind their mischievous grins? Ginerva, however, still felt a pang every time a group of girls in the common room pointed, whispered, giggled loudly over what was quite obviously some defect they saw in her. Her brothers told her to ignore them; she would smile and nod and try harder to be more like them. But it never fully took.

* * *

"Why must I be so bloody horrible at this?" Ginerva asked one night, after picking herself up for what seemed like the thirtieth time. George flicked his training sabre at her teasingly. Fred simply stood and waited. "I take it back," she continued. "Why must I learn this at all?"

"Because, darling sister, it is all part of the grander picture."

"The larger scheme, if you will."

"I do will, Fred."

"Excellent, George." She rolled her eyes at both of them, but tolerated the teasing.

"You two think you know everything. One day I'll show you both, and you'll be so speechless the silence will stick there in your mouths like toffee." She was rewarded with deep laughter.

"Ah, dear one…"

"How we long for that day."

"But until then…"

"En garde!" they both lunged, but she anticipated and the fight began again in earnest.

* * *

Her second year passed quickly like this. Her third, they were fully engrossed in their parts. Had they been more observant, however, they might have noticed an odd trend: they had begun to forget about Malfoy. It was a bit predictable, really, that what began as immature revenge, fueled by hate and old blood and subconscious jealousy, became an excuse to be together.

Sometimes it would Ginerva that would forget. It was easy, for the most part, because they never saw each other. But inevitably, she would see Hermione would ring her hands and fret until Ginny asked what was wrong and the kind-hearted brainiac would tell her about Harry's new foolish plan to blame everything on Malfoy. Then the coldness would seep back into her veins and the next time they saw her, the twins would take her hands and promise retribution.

Other times, Fred and George would be distracted by a grand prank or a new potion and Ginny would be sucked into the whirlwind, their laughter echoing through their eyes and warming their hearts indefinitely. But quite routinely, while serving detention with Filch and other miscreants, they would hear a story from a first year being set up by the Slytherin prince and their rage would pierce through their hearts. The all too familiar course, their third year, a cycle of forgetting (almost… _wanting_ to forget, if they were honest) and obligation to remember and carry on the cause.

Their days were filled with merriment, their nights with planning. The years were spent training, drawing out their cunning and preparing for a war they never truly intended to fight.

On the last night of classes her third year, the trio gathered in their favorite hiding place. Ginny had been caught up with Luna and George had been helping a younger Gryffindor avoid some Ravenclaws to whom he owed galleons, so it had been Fred's duty to sneak into the kitchens and get all their favorite foods. Ginny had grabbed a blanket and George their box. Soon, the blanket was covered with strawberries, chocolate covered raisins, baby tomatoes, cold steak sandwiches, and fizzy lemonade. In their laps sat folders full of all their plans, doodles and notes passed in the halls all pasted in a scrapbook, trinkets they'd lifted from classmates, objects they'd stolen from Filch and the classrooms. It was their treasure chest and lock box, full of their secrets and dreams. And amidst all this, three heads of shockingly orange hair bent towards each other forming a messy triangle.

"No picnic is better than one in a tunnel," Ginny said as she bit delicately into a tomato.

"Cheers to that," George nodded, clinking his bottle against Fred's. "I fear for the morning. Potions first thing."

"At least if it's a final, the slimy git won't be able to talk back the whole blasted time."

"He's not as bad as all that," Ginny argued, popping the rest of the tomato in her mouth. She rather liked potions; it was her favorite subject. Her opinion of Snape was supplemented by the fact that none of the Gryffindors in her grade were as loathed as Harry or as incompetent as Neville Longbottom. The twins, on the other hand, brought out the worst in Snape nearly as easily as Harry himself.

"Now, now, don't tell me you've been enchanted by our dear Potions Master," George grinned.

"How could she not, though, really. There's just so much to love."

"The hair—"

"The nose—"

"The rosy outlook on life—"

"The way he truly loves his students—"

"Alright, alright," Ginny said. "I get it. Snape is the worst person in the world. The only person who could possibly ever be worse than that is Malfoy."

The name skittered off the packed-earth walls and their forced laughter could not fight against it. Silence fell heavy. They were reminded once again. Then, suddenly, Ginerva reached out and grabbed both their hands.

"Let's not let Malfoy _or _Snape ruin this. Tonight is ours, and it's meant to be special. I wouldn't be able to stand you without those idiot grins on your faces; it just… it just wouldn't be the same." Fred looked over at George, who met his gaze steadily. Then Fred leaned in to kiss his baby sister on the cheek. George simply squeezed her hand.

"Of course not, dearheart."

"Tonight—"

"And all nights—"

"Are ours."

Her smile made their hearts break.

"Cheers," she said quietly.

"Cheers," two voices echoed, and the call chased out all the remaining shadows.

* * *

They would mention revenge, surely, plans they had concocted whilst daydreaming in class or drifting off to sleep, but they never went further than talking. It became another secret, yet another joke, something shared with nudges and winks. Fred, George, and especially Ginerva never forgot their hatred of the Malfoys, nor passed up an opportunity to slip something in Draco's drink or send something flying towards his thick skull. But revenge did not consume them; companionship took its place instead.

In that way, they truly did win a sweet revenge against Malfoy, who'd never had something so precious, but they could not know of this victory since they had not bothered to send a second glance his way for quite some time.


	3. Year Four, Part One

Her fourth year, everything changed. Voldemort was back, if Harry was to be believed—and in Ginny's eyes there was no reason not to. The summer had been filled with drama Ginny didn't want; she spent most of her time with Fred and George hiding from it all. It was selfish of her, but she didn't care. In some ways she knew she was not ready; in others, she was far beyond the Order's petty squabbles.

The worst news by far, however, was waiting for them back at school. Umbridge invaded Hogwarts and suddenly there was an enemy more powerful by twenty than Draco Malfoy. Ginny was sitting with Fred and George at the Welcome Feast, saw their eyes flash with muted fury just as Hermione's glistened with foreshadowing of the dark times to come. Ginny always knew to look at Hermione when she was uncertain; the clever witch wore her emotions clearly, and always knew when trouble was coming.

Umbridge was all they stood against, everything they hated personified and distilled down into one tiny pixie of evil. It was their entire purpose to bring her to her knees as a victory for the Order. They trained all the harder now that they had a purpose lighting their eyes was a fire that matched their hair.

Ginny marveled at the twins' enormous capacity for mischief, as if their minds had simply be hibernating until the right catalyst came along. Suddenly, they had five plans working at once; one involving Peeves, one hinging on certain first years getting detention with Filch so they could break in to his office, one where Fred actually stole Harry's invisibility cloak so they could check Umbridge's office and plant illegal potions in her cabinet. They started brewing overtime, demand for Wheezes skyrocketing. Ginny barely remembered attending class; all she could think of was the resistance.

* * *

Ginevra longed for Christmas break. Away from Umbridge, Snape, and Malfoy; away from the war and all its implications; away from her own misgivings. Christmas in the Burrow was always a hectic affair, but she loved the secret moments when Fred and George whisked her away from chores or wrapping to fly through the falling snow or chuck ice balls at the gnomes.

News of spending the break in Order headquarters hit her harder than she liked to admit. She understood the logic behind it, of course, and to everyone else was the face of calm acceptance. Fred and George, predictably, knew better and wouldn't let her get away with it.

"Little siiiister," Fred sang, coming up from behind her.

"What's wrong, Ginevra? What's stolen your sunshine?"

"You mean besides your ghastly faces?" she retorted, but stopped to duck into an empty classroom with them.

"Winter is coming, sister, aren't you excited?" George asked, leading her to the window to show her.

"Winter is here, silly, and of _course _I'm excited."

"Liar," Fred murmured, leaning in to stare deep into her eyes. George put a hand on his twin's shoulder.

"What's wrong, gingersnap?" George asked, a hint of worry in his voice, but much calmer than Fred. She rolled her eyes at the old nickname.

"I want to go home."

"Wait a few days, and home we'll be," George said, knowing full well what she meant.

"No, not Sirius' house. _Home_. The Burrow." There was silence for a moment, then all three sighed. George, then Fred, wrapped their arms around her.

"It's just another casualty of war," George said. She grimaced.

"I'd been hoping to get away from it," she confessed, looking down, but Fred grabbed her chin.

"We all wish for that. Nothing to be ashamed of." His eyes shifted, gaining flashes of steel. "But we've taught you better than to show it. We have to be strong, for Harry and for ourselves." She nodded, resigned, hating the war all the more for taking another Christmas from them, one they would never regain.

* * *

Sirius was bursting to full with energy when they arrived. The only visitors he'd had all semester were members of the Order coming for meetings or coordinating during an emergency. Ginny could see the longing in his eyes to be part of a family; she wished so dreadfully she could trade his isolation for her adventure. She knew he would be happier at Hogwarts, joining in the madness and the drama. All she truly wanted at the moment was the peace of climbing out on the roof with the twins by her side and watching clouds come and go.

The days passed quickly, and Christmas was coming up on them. They were all scattered around the house when there was a pop, then a scream. Ginny ran down the stairs, Harry and Ron behind her, Hermione already down the hall from the library. They all crowded in the kitchen doorway, then stopped short: standing in the middle of the kitchen was Draco Malfoy. He carried what looked like a beaten dog, but when Ginny looked closer she saw a glimpse of black oily hair. She gasped and instantly felt sick, and from the retching behind her she could tell that Hermione was doing no better. Her mother, however, had recovered from her shock enough to begin yelling at everyone to get out. Sirius—who had come in behind them— looked like he wasn't going to take that news lightly, but Molly looked like she would skip the hexing and go straight towards backhanding whoever disagreed with her. One look at her face and even Sirius knew better than to argue. He disappeared before Malfoy could catch a good glimpse at his face.

"No," Draco said as Ginny backed out. "You stay, Ginny." The name sounded completely foreign coming from his lips, like an exotic potion instead of just a name. He pronounced it as if it was an unknown language.

"Hey, you git—" Ron started, but Molly cut him off.

"No, he's right, I need some help. Go on, dear," she waved Ron away," Don't worry about us. Floo Dumbledore and the others," she added to Sirius who was still lurking. "Now out!" And with that she shut the door.

"What happened," asked Molly, taking Draco by the sleeve and pushing him into a chair.

"He was shown to be a spy," Draco said dispassionately. Ginny surmised he was still in shock, and wondered if she should fetch him something.

"Who knew? How? No, not now, what did they do to him? I must know so I can—"

"My father knew," Draco said, voice still monotone. "As a reward he tortured him. My father is cruel but not creative. Extensive Cruciatus Curse over broken glass, hence the blood. Once all the others left I was able to get a Body-Bind in on father and took Severus. He'd told me about this place. He wanted my to spy for the Order, save my from my father… but now…"

"Yes, that's quite enough," Molly said, "you're very brave, but if we don't tend to him immediately your bravery will have been useless. We need to relax his muscles and fix his broken bones." Draco moved to stand but Molly pushed him back down and motioned to Ginny. "Get him some blankets and a cup of tea. Check his temperature and…"

"I know first aid, mum," Ginny interrupted. "Get to work on Snape." Molly nodded and Ginny fetched some spare blankets from the pantry.

Everything moved quickly after that. Ginny knew Molly had studied to become a mediwitch but had never seen her work. She was efficient, brutally so. There was little for Ginny to do but hand her gauze and make sure Draco didn't slip into unconsciousness.

Draco had begun to focus on the world around him again, but all he could seem to notice were the freckles on Ginevra's nose. He stared until she blushed and covered her face, but his head felt so heavy he did not bother to move it. He kept staring at the place where her nose used to be, now the back wall. He reached out to turn her face back, and nearly toppled over.

"Here, stand up. Maybe you'll feel better if you move," Ginny suggested. She put a hand on his elbow and helped him stand. Draco could now see Severus' body—a sight he had been trying to avoid—and Molly working over him. He was clean, at least, and looked less pale. Draco could see the scar on Severus' neck now that his hair was finally out of the w—

"His hair!" he exclaimed, and Ginny looked, then gasped.

"Mum, what did you do?!" She cried. Molly didn't even look up.

"He had multiple wounds on his head and it had to go. Otherwise the wounds wouldn't have healed properly. He can take a potion to grow it back once he's well."

Ginny and Draco just looked at Snape and his now nearly bald head. It was one of those moments when, in the midst of all the horrible atrocities of war, all the blood and loss and death and despair, something so tiny makes everything feel absolutely bloody absurd. Ginevra looked sideways at Draco, and he caught her eye.

Both quite suddenly exploded with laughter, holding onto each other and feeling the breath catch in their throats. Their laughs sounded scratchy, like they were crying so hard there was nothing left to do but laugh.

Feeling empty, Ginny stepped back, numb. A hand wrapped around her waist and she did not question it, leaning into the warmth (warmth that came from hot, rushing blood, blood that had come spilling out from Snape's wounds, flowing all over her, blinding her, filling her lungs and drowning her—)

She shook and gagged, and cold hands brushed against her neck to collect her hair as she leaned over the sink. After a few awful moments, she stood and took the handkerchief pushed into her hand.

"Ginny, hand me that—" and she was back to numbness, the unfeeling motions of one who must serve. '_It's just another casualty of war_' she heard her brother's words in her head, hardly realizing she was thinking at all.

* * *

Some time later, Snape was still unconscious but looked significantly improved. Molly had gone upstairs to take a shower, and Ginevra had been told to stay put. She was not to let anyone in, and especially not let Draco or Snape (should he wake) out.

"You shouldn't be here," Ginny said to Draco once they were alone. He stood by Severus, holding the man's limp hand. "I can't believe Snape told you about this place."

"It's a bit too late for that, and aren't you glad he did?"

"You've brought him, and some would say that's a good thing, but I've never been allowed to go to Order meetings so I wouldn't know. But in any case, you should leave."

"I would if I cou—"

"Now, now," a voice said from behind the door, and Mad-Eye Moody revealed himself with a shaky motion towards the table. "Let's show some hospitality. Tea, biscuits, and a bit of explanation." When no one moved he added, "_Now_." Malfoy sat, Mad-Eye across from him. Before Ginny could move to close the door, cursing herself for letting Moody get in, Sirius slid past and winked at her. He stood discomfortingly close to Malfoy, clapping the young man on the shoulder. Anger clouded his handsome face.

Malfoy yelped.

Sirius grinned, and the coldness of it send shivers up Ginny's arms.

"I should have known they were keeping you here, Black," Malfoy said once he had regained his voice, though it still shook. "If you so much as tou—"

"The little Malfoy finally realizes what he's gotten himself into," Sirius murmured circling around Malfoy, a vulture with ruthless intentions. "Life will only get worse from here, _Draco_," he spat the name like a particularly nasty disease. "I intend to know everything you know…"

"I'll tell you anything you want," Draco said, bravado seeping away to unmask his fear.

"How pathetic," Sirius said, looking at Mad-Eye, who absently nodded.

"Ginny, you should leave," Sirius said, unknowingly echoing her earlier sentiments. She would have none of it.

"You and Moody torturing Malfoy for the hell of it? I'm not leaving." Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and Sirius looked furious. Mad-Eye smiled as if nothing at all surprised him anymore.

"You shouldn't care about this little shit, Ginny," Sirius began, but Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I don't. His father is still a powerful man, and you're a wanted criminal. You could go back to Azkaban, Moody could lose his job. None of that would help the Order at all. And besides, he's willing to talk."

"She's right," Draco added enthusiastically.

"Shut up," Ginny and Sirius both said, and their voices made Draco flinch. Ginny turned back to Sirius.

"Malfoy was actually brave, Sirius. He petrified his father to get Snape here alive. If you don't think that takes balls, then you don't remember Lucius Malfoy well enough. I happen to know what he can do really well; I still have to thank him for turning me into Tom Riddle's personal slave." Everyone looked severely uncomfortable at that statement, except Ginny, who seemed bolstered by their looks. "Get off your high horse and deal with the fact that not all bravery comes from Gryfindor. Snape and Malfoy are _on our side_, so grow the fuck up and stop making me resent you more than them!" She took a breath and turned on Moody. "And _you _should be smarter than to go along with one of _his _antics. _Honestly_," she sighed, unconsciously mimicking Hermione. Malfoy tried to hide his snigger behind a cough; he's seen Granger tell Potter and Weasley off enough times to know the mannerism. But his chuckle immediately died when she turned her fiery eyes on him.

"Don't even start, Malfoy," she said. "Now, I want both of you idiots out before mum comes down and I get in trouble."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Molly was already here," Sirius muttered to Mad-Eye as they beat a hasty retreat. Moody shook his head and tried to pretend none of this had happened.

"You're so cute when you're angry, Weasley," Malfoy said.

"Ah, good, you're back to your old charming self," Ginny deadpanned, turning to check on Snape—and covered her mouth to muffle a shriek when she met his coal-black eyes.

"Not even the dead could sleep through your rantings, Ginevra Weasley," Severus Snape said, voice as velvety as ever.

* * *

There was no peace in the little house after that. 


End file.
